


"Not going on my rounds"

by aljohnson



Series: "There, we've made a start" [1]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Timothy Turner learns some surprising things about the relationship between his father and Sister Bernadette - namely that it's no longer Strictly Professional. </p><p>My interpretation of the "missing scenes" between Patrick getting in his car outside the Maternity Hospital to find Timmy in the passenger seat, and the two of them finally finding her on that deserted road...</p><p>Assumes you are familiar with the end of Season 2 of Call the Midwife</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Short drive, long story....

**Author's Note:**

> Some things I have had to assume / ignore.  
> 1) The Sanatorium is supposed to be in Woodford Green - there's a close up shot of one of the letters that shows the address, and the post code is "IG8". This is 12 miles, not 30, from Poplar. I've assumed that Patrick is so delirious over the fact that she's called him that his geography and grasp of distance goes out of the window.  
> 2) I've assumed that Nurse Peters would even be in the business of answering doors.  
> 3) I've assumed that the Field of Jacket swishing is somewhere in the general Epping Forest area - it makes sense if you look at maps of the area.  
> 4) I've ignored the fact that in reality, she'd have almost certainly just walked to Woodford Green tube station, and hopped on the Central Line to Bethnal Green.  
> 5) I've assumed that Nurse Peters ships it as hard as we all do!
> 
> This is my first fic for CTM. I think I have the voices "right".
> 
> Anything in Italics is a direct lift from the script as broadcast, and NOT MINE!
> 
> As this is work which has not yet fallen into the public realm, a DISCLAIMER - I am not making any money, no copyright infringement is intended. All characters etc are the copyright of one or more of The Estate of Jennifer Worth, Heidi Thomas or Neal Street Productions.

He’d already lost enough time with Dolly. That had been possibly the quickest examination he had performed this year, and he could see that Chummy was looking at him strangely the whole time. He wondered how much of the telephone call Chummy had heard and whether she realised who he had been speaking with. It was obvious from her apologetic tone and the smile creeping across her face as he finished speaking with Dolly that she realised something was going on with him.

And what about Sister Berna…. What was he even supposed to call her now? Never mind, he would deal with that later. It had sounded to him, hopeful at least. She had sounded so full of life, and then, he had been interrupted and she had sounded so dismayed. He felt as if he was letting her down. He had often felt like he was letting her down over the last few months – kissing her hand, not spotting her TB until it was serious, writing to her repeatedly. He knew now, from her letter to Timothy, that she had at least read his letters. Had this been her response?

Throwing aside all rationality, he dashed out of the maternity hospital, and flung open the door of the MG. Tim was sat in the front seat. Patrick stared at his son, as a million thoughts rushed around his head.

_“You’re meant to be washing equipment”_

_“I’ve finished. And you owe me Half a Crown. I thought I’d come with you on your rounds”_

_“I’m not going on my rounds”_

Patrick reached a decision; Timothy would have to come with him. He needed to talk all of this through with the boy anyway, see what his thoughts might be. He turned the engine over, fidgeting impatiently as the car wheezed into life.

As he pulled out onto the East India Dock Road, and turned the vehicle in the general direction of Essex, a myriad of thoughts were running through Patrick’s mind. Timothy looked out of the window at the unfamiliar sites,

“Dad, where are we going?”

“Oh, umm, we’re going to St Anne’s Sanatorium”

“To collect Sister Bernadette?”

“Erm, yes. Hopefully”.

“Oh, smashing” replied Timothy, thinking that his day was looking up. Maybe he could convince Sister to do something fun with him, that didn’t involve cleaning medical equipment. The two of them fell silent for a minute, Timothy distracted by the neat rows of houses he could now see, they were cleaner than the small terraces in Poplar, with gardens with neatly cut grass and flower beds.

Patrick coughed, attempting to swallow the lump rapidly forming in his throat, “Timothy, you, umm, you like her, don’t you?”

“Who? Sister Bernadette? Yes, she’s whizzo fun. She was much better in the three-legged race than you would have been. And she looked after my arm that time I scraped it at school. And she said I shouldn’t worry about playing a girl in Robin Hood. She’s nice”

“Allright, good” said Patrick, slightly relaxing as he released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“But you like her too, don’t you dad?” asked Timothy, innocent to the dual meaning of his question.

Patrick’s head nearly hit the windscreen as he slammed his foot on the brakes.

“What? Who? Why?” stammered Patrick, fearing his feelings had been deduced. He swallowed, re-engaged the clutch and gear stick, and continued along the road. “Erm, yes, I like her. Very much”.

Timothy fell silent. His dad was being weird. Even weirder than he had been for the last few months. “Dad, are you OK?”

“Yes, Timothy, yes, I’m fine. But, erm, there’s something we need to talk about.” Patrick hesitantly replied, adjusting his tie out of nervous habit.

“Allright” responded Timothy warily, his mind quickly recalling anything naughty he’d done in the last few weeks. He was fairly sure there was nothing his dad had found out about, “what are we talking about?”

“Well. You know I love mum, very much, and that’s never going to change…” Patrick faltered. He hadn’t been prepared for any of this he realised now, hadn’t broached the subject in even any vague way at all, and he was suddenly terribly worried that Tim was going to react very badly to what he hoped lay ahead in his future. He worried his wedding band with his thumb as he changed gears and they slowed down at a set of traffic lights.

“Yeah. I know” Tim paused, he swallowed deeply, “Dad, are you OK? You’re not, ill, are you?” the boy stammered.

Patrick looked over at Tim quickly, reaching out to pat his shoulder in reassurance. “No, No, Timmy I’m fine”.

“And Sister Bernadette’s better now, yes?” queried Tim, worry now etched on his face, “that is why we’re going to collect her, because she’s better, not because she’s…” He paused, the pain and worry written across his eyes, “not because she’s, worse?”.

“No, no, she’s much better. I understand she’s responded very well to the Triple Treatment.” Patrick paused, he was just going to have to come out with it. “And, well, about Sister Bernadette.” He paused again, despite his better intention.

The lights changed and Patrick put the car into gear and pulled away from the junction. Maybe if he focused his eyes on the road this would be easier. “Well, I’ve been writing to Sister Bernadette, whilst she’s been in St Anne’s for her treatment”.

“Oh! That’s what she meant in her letter to me. I wondered. How many times did you write to her?”

“Erm, every week.”

“Every week Dad, gosh.“ Tim considered this, “what on earth did you have to tell her about? All you’ve been doing is working.” The boy said with alarming frankness.

“I’m not that boring, thanks” replied Patrick, tartly.

“What has this got to do with mum?” asked Tim.

“Ah, well, yes, you see”, Patrick was starting to sweat like a nervous teenager, “right, it’s like this. I’m in love with Sister Bernadette”. He took the chance to glance quickly over at Tim as he manoeuvred the car round a roundabout. Tim's jaw dropped.

“Dad! She’s a nun! You can’t be in love with a nun – it’s not allowed! Sister Julienne will kill you. And Sister Evangelina”.

“I think, Timothy, that maybe, maybe she isn’t a nun anymore”.

“What? How do you stop being a nun? Is that even possible?”

“Yes. Maybe, I’m not sure.”

“Dad, you’re talking nonsense. Take a deep breath, tell me everything”.

Patrick decided it was time to just make a clean breast of it all: “Allright. Well, I’ve been falling in love with her for some time. And I have, erm well, let’s say, indicated, to her how I feel. Which, obviously, was not the entirely correct way to act. And I’ve been writing to her whilst she’s been away, to, as delicately as possible, let her know the depth of my feelings for her”, Patrick explained, seriously.

“The depth of your feelings?” mimicked Tim, astonished at what his father was telling him.

“Less cheek Timothy please” retorted Patrick. There was a brief moment’s silence.

“And does she love you?” asked Tim, looking squarely at his father now, who was getting redder and redder by the second.

“Erm. Well, I’m not actually sure. I think she might? We spoke on the phone this morning, and, well…” Patrick trailed off. What if he was reading this all wrong? What if she didn’t feel the way he did? He was going to feel like a prize turnip and no mistake. “Actually, I’m not sure. We got interrupted by Akela.”

Patrick found suddenly that they were at the sanatorium. The journey had been much quicker than he had been expecting. It had felt much longer when he had last driven this road to bring Sister Bernadette here for treatment. Patrick parked the car up and turned off the engine.

He turned to Timothy, “I’m sorry, we haven’t really had a chance to talk about this as much as I would have liked. Do you have any questions?” Timothy considered this. He had a lot of questions, actually, but he was fairly sure his dad wouldn’t be able to answer them right now. He could see that his Dad was fairly fizzing with nerves and excitement. “Not right now” Timothy said.


	2. "International Nun of Mystery"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world, in the form of Nurse Peters, gives Patrick a break.

Patrick smiled at Timothy. The boy didn't seem to hate the idea, which was a good start, he felt. Obviously there would be questions, once Timothy had been given the opportunity to digest the news. But depending on how the next few minutes went, he might just have to deal with the inordinate embarrassment of rejection if he had read Sister’s tone and hints all wrong. 

They both got out of the car and walked to the door of the imposing building. Patrick rang the bell and waited, rocking back and forth on his heels, fidgeting with his hand, his coat, his jacket and his hair. After what felt like forever the door opened, and a jolly, friendly face glanced between them.

“Hello? Can I help you?” Asked Nurse Peters.

“Hello, good morning, yes” stuttered Patrick, “I’ve come to collect a patient who has been discharged.”

“Which patient please?”

“Erm, Sister Bernadette. Of the Order of Raymond Nonnatus?” queried Patrick. 

“Ah. I’m Nurse Peters. Who are you?” asked the Nurse, smiling now, “And how do you know our ‘International Nun of Mystery’?”

“Is that what you’ve called her?” asked Timothy, a broad smile appearing on his face, “That’s fantastic”. He paused, “Why did you call her that?”

“Ah” responded the nurse, “top secret info young man”, she tapped the side of her nose. “And who are you?” she smiled at him.

“I’m Timothy Turner. This is my dad, Doctor Turner. We’ve come to collect Sister Bernadette. She rang Dad and said she was better, and he’s missed rounds and everything” gabbled Timothy in response. Patrick was still stood there, frozen to the spot. 

“Oh. You’re Doctor Turner. The ‘Doctor Turner’ of all the letters, I presume?” asked the nurse, raising an eyebrow as she perused him. 

“Does everyone other than me know about those?” asked Timothy, indignantly. 

“Oh I think not young Timothy”. Nurse Peters said, seeking to reassure him. The nurse made a decision, she could see the poor man stood before her was in torment, and she suspected, having observed the nun closely, that she had never written back. “I only know about them because I was her nurse, and I used to tease her about them.” She also suspected, having seen the young woman leaving only a short time earlier, that the man stood before her, looking as if his world was about to collapse, was the reason that Sister had left wearing very dated but definitely ‘non-nun’ clothes, and a look of shock on her face. She decided to give him some hope, “She read them all you know, in one go, last week. Sat there for hours reading and re-reading. She had quite a smile on her face. And she hadn’t opened a single one until last week, not even opened the envelopes to peek.” 

The nurse smiled at Patrick, who was now looking at her intently. She could see that he was trying to process all she had just said. Timothy responded first.

“She read them all in one go? Wow. I hope they were good dad, otherwise she’d have been bored stiff!”

“I think they were fine young man, if I’m any judge” Nurse Peters smiled down at the boy. 

“Erm, yes, thank you Nurse Peters. Is Sister Bernadette here?” asked Patrick, finding his voice at last.

“Ah, I am afraid, Doctor, that you are too late. She has already left”

“My dad’s always late” interjected Timothy, smiling up at the nurse. He liked her, she had a lovely smile. 

“How long ago? She didn’t go for the bus did she? I told her not to go for the bus. She can’t travel by bus, she’s not well enough” blurted Patrick, panic rising in his voice as he fired questions towards the nurse. 

“About 30 minutes. Yes, I believe she did go for the bus. She was fairly insistent that she was leaving, but I think she turned the wrong way at the gate, otherwise you’ve driven past her, haven’t you?” replied the Nurse, a wry smile on her face.

“We didn’t drive past any buses” said Tim, “and we were on the bus route, because I saw the Bus Stops as we drove here”.

“Sorry I can’t help more. I suggest turning right and heading towards the forest, you might be able to catch her, the buses only run every half hour”

“Right, thank you Nurse” said Patrick, taking a step back, “thank you very much. Goodbye”.

“Goodbye Doctor Turner, goodbye Timothy. Lovely to meet you” Nurse Peters shut the door on the rapidly retreating figure of Patrick Turner, who was rooting for his car keys in his coat pocket.


	3. Epic Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resolution....

He found the keys; they got in the car and fired up the engine again. Turning the car round, Patrick took a deep breath and moved out of the sanatorium drive, turning right towards Epping Forest. They immediately drove past the bus stop, where no-one was waiting.

Patrick drove on, heading towards the ancient woodlands, dotted with open ground. It was still morning, and out here, the fog which had disappeared in Poplar several hours earlier was still lingering.

“Well, that sounded good Dad. She said when she wrote to me to thank you for your letters, and that Nurse said that she was smiling when she read them. That’s good, right?” asked Timothy, trying to break the silence which was lingering heavier than the fog.

“I guess” replied his father, “but why would she leave? I told her not to.”

Timothy recognised this as his dad’s worried and sad voice. “Dad, don’t be sad. I think she probably likes you, she seems to like me. And, I know you love mum, and I know you’ve been sad since she, since she died” he paused, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jumper, “but mum wouldn’t want you to be sad. So we need to try and find Sister Bernadette, Dad. Before you completely fall apart” he finished, with a cheeky grin.

Patrick smiled and shook his head, what had he done to deserve such a son?

They drove on, both of them scouring the roadside for any sign of anyone, let alone the missing nun. “I can’t see a thing”, said Timothy after a few minutes, winding the window down, “I’m getting a better view.” He moved himself so that he was leaning out of the window, able to look down the road more fully. Ordinarily he knew his dad would never let him get away with this, but he had realised that this was no ordinary day; no ordinary drive in the car with his Dad.

They drove on and the fog seemed to intensify, Patrick driving the car more slowly now, starting to panic that he had missed her, or would drive past her in his haste. The trees were beginning to thin out, where could she have gone?

 _“If I see her, shall I shout at her? Shall I shout ‘Stop – Sister Bernadette!’?”_ Timothy yelled at his father, as they drove on. The wind was sweeping through Tim’s hair, freezing his face, and it was getting colder. He didn’t care, this was much more fun than cleaning petri dishes.

 _“No, leave the talking to me”_ Patrick replied. “This is a time for grown up talk.” He shouted back. ‘If I ever find her’ he thought grimly. They drove on in silence, both of them earnestly perusing the horizon for the missing nun.

The trees fell back, and the forest opened up, becoming fields for a while, open ground laying either side of the road. As the car motored up a slight incline, the fog became worse – denser, colder, even harder to see through. Timmy shivered slightly, there was damp in the air and he could feel the moisture lingering in his hair.

In the car, Patrick was growing more frantic by the minute. Where could she be? Had they driven past her? Was she all right? Would this fog cause her recovery to be set back? What was he even going to say to her if they found her? He hated to think of her wandering around the countryside on her own. Mid-way through his brooding, he became aware of Timmy trying to attract his attention.

 _“Dad”_ Timmy half turned towards his dad and patted the seat of the MG, _“there’s a woman in the wrong clothes, and I think it’s her!”_

Patrick scoured the road ahead, and there, in the fog, becoming clearer now as he got closer, was the form of, well, was that her? The female figure stopped and turned towards the car. As she did so, Patrick saw the glasses she was wearing and realised it was her.

Timmy sat himself back in the car properly. “Gosh” he whispered, as much to himself as to his father.

Patrick stopped the car a few yards from her. He sat there, for what seemed like eternity, his hands gripping the wheel, his knuckles turning white. Shelagh recognised the car, and put her suitcases down.

Timmy turned his head towards his dad, who was still gripping the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. “Dad. Dad. You have to get out of the car” he urged, quietly. Patrick pulled himself together, focusing on the woman in front of him, whilst listening to the boy beside him.

“Yes, right-o, absolutely” he murmured in reply.

As Patrick turned off the engine and reached for the door, Timothy spoke up, “Oh and Dad?” Patrick turned towards him, briefly, as Timmy lifted both his hands and made two thumbs up, “Good luck!”


End file.
